


the price of a name

by sunsongs



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: But that’s nothing new, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 13:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsongs/pseuds/sunsongs
Summary: Although he bore no crown nor scepter, he carried himself with a regal air, the well-crafted gold fabric of his cape glinting in the dim.-In which a information broker walks into a bar.





	the price of a name

The night was young, and the marketplace outside quiet aside from the vendors closing up shop. Quaint bookstores became curious apothecaries, typical wares locked away until morning came.

 

They say the Night Market rose with the moon; if one asked the right questions, perhaps one could broker a deal for merchandise that would be frowned upon elsewhere, to say the least. Here, none would blink an eye; perhaps they’d even laugh at the evident newcomer’s reaction, their rapidly paling features met with a slap on the back and no small amount of guffawing.

 

”Amateurs,” they’d choke out between chuckles, “they get greener with every generation.”

 

The Sickle Moon sat at a prime location in the midst of the Market, serving only to an exclusive clientele. Invitations were few and far between; their scarcity demanded a certain quality to the bar’s patrons - a sense of cunning, perhaps, coupled with impassioned ambition.

 

Two patrons in particular are the main actors of this play; this is where their paths first cross - not with the parting of velvet curtains, no - but in a far quieter encounter.

 

Quiet, however, was not synonymous with peaceful - calm as they may have appeared, they were all but braced for a knife in the back or perhaps a subtler approach; a sprig of belladonna lacing an otherwise innocuous drink would be poison washed down with only the slightest alteration of taste. Met with a bitter end and an unfortunate fate, one would come to the realization all too late.

 

Low lights gleamed on vivid cocktails chilled with ice, soft, ambient jazz serving as a smooth, classy backdrop. It would not be a bad place for such an exchange; however, the bartender would likely usher them out. Violence escalating to such an extent was never good for business, even on their side of the law.

 

Whiskey could often be found at the polished marble counter, exchanging pleasantries with the bartender or other patrons in order to obtain information. Typically, he’d never imagine indulging in even a malt. True, he was a frequent customer - but he was far from being an alcoholic; the thought to him was almost abhorrent - even if he was the embodiment of such a drink.

 

No, Whiskey had to ensure that he was fully conscious of his every action, holding his cards close and never showing his hand in a moment of inebriation. This was, however, quite advantageous for him to utilize against another party. “In vino veritas” proved invaluable in such a setting, as that people under alcohol’s influence held far looser tongues in speaking their otherwise hidden intentions and desires.

 

Whiskey’s glasses gleamed in low light upon seeing the man with well-combed crimson hair, a deep red the color of...oddly enough, tomato sauce? Not the most poetic comparison, but it had been the first to come to mind. Although he bore no crown nor scepter, he carried himself with a regal air, the well-crafted gold fabric of his cape glinting in the dim.

 

Whiskey found himself...intrigued, to say the least, of the power and prestige the man emanated; perhaps he would serve as a valuable ally. Whiskey would even go so far to say that he felt a sense of companionship with this fellow food soul; something about him rang familiar, as if the longer he looked, the more qualities Whiskey could find in the man reflected in himself.

 

The man was seated at the counter in full regalia, low voice inquiring of Whiskey’s name. Having caught up in his appraisal of the man, Whiskey broke the surface of the deep sea of his ruminations with a start hardly noticeable to the unpracticed eye. He quickly masked his misstep with a cough, realizing the man was referring to him.

 

"Which would you prefer? I have many to choose from."

 

The man scoffed, but did not appear fazed by lack of a direct answer. In their circles, few things were freely given - but Whiskey did not appear to be finished as he leaned over the counter, eyes peering into Spaghetti’s with a searching, inquisitive gaze - clinical yet curious, as if wanting to pick him apart to discover all the secrets he held within.

 

Were he a lesser man, Spaghetti would have shivered - but instead, he met the searing stare unflinchingly as the other continued.

 

"That, good sir, is something you must earn."

 

Spaghetti stirred the ice cubes in his drink slowly as they begin to melt, condensation cool on his palms. He had been searching for the rumored information broker, alchemist and doctor rolled all in one for quite a while - but it seemed like his troubles had yet to end. Even so…

 

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

 

Two could certainly play at that game.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Food Lesbiabs server for encouraging me to post this! Wrote this in November 2018, but never posted...?
> 
> I appreciate all comments, rambles, or any thoughts on my work. I’d be glad to hear it, if you have a favorite line or anything! I’m sorry. I really need to get around to replying..
> 
> Hope you have a nice day.
> 
> Will there be a continuation of their interactions? Maybe, if there’s enough reception to this...


End file.
